


i wrote my way out of hell

by miserybug



Series: why do you write like you're running out of time? [3]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, SMP live, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dimension Travel, Dream Smp, Gen, Minecraft, Minecraft championships, SMP Earth - Freeform, mentions of Slimecicle Cinematic Universe (tm), smp live - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserybug/pseuds/miserybug
Summary: Three times Wilbur Soot ran, and one time he decided he couldn't keep running."When I was seventeen a hurricaneDestroyed my townI didn't drownI couldn't seem to die"
Relationships: don't try and read into it either- this is a PURELY platonic series, n omegalul
Series: why do you write like you're running out of time? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891264
Comments: 22
Kudos: 342
Collections: Dream SMP Connected Storylines





	i wrote my way out of hell

1.

SMP Live crumbles under the weight of a meteor and the weight of betrayal. Wilbur scrambles from the rubble and runs, runs as fast as he can from the floating figure in a business suit and through the hole in reality to what he can only hope is safety. 

Before he leaves, he turns to look back. The floating man is surrounded by old friends- some of them run, some of them hide. Four of them float around him, attempting to hold off another attack. On the ground, only one person stands unharmed. He walks towards the man in the suit, the eye of the hurricane, adjusting his overalls with nervous urgency and shaking, inexperienced hands holding a diamond sword in front of him. Connor was never the most enthusiastic about learning how to handle the world, and it was biting him in the ass now.

Wilbur watches as the suited man brushes away the other floating gods with a flick of his palm, sends them flying through a wall and out of sight. He lands with a thump and laughs manically before turning to face his once confidant. Even in the distance, Wilbur can see the surprise and hesitation flash across the business man’s face as he realizes his opponent. The two stand in silence, and Connor takes that moment to wildly slash in Schlatt’s direction. Schlatt’s face goes blank, almost disappointed, and he pushes the diamond sword the shorter boy wields in his face to the side. Connor goes flying with it. Schlatt looks past his fallen friend, examining the rubble, scanning the destruction, making eye contact with-

Oh fuck. 

He whips back around and he runs. He leaves Connor to face Schlatt alone, and he sprints like the coward he is with nothing but a sweater and a guitar and a backpack in his possession. The last thing he sees before he disappears into the beyond is Schlatt’s face morphing into rage as he stalks towards his direction.  
Wilbur does not stop running for a very long time.

2.

The moment Business Bay forms in SMP Earth, Wilbur begins packing his bags. There’s brown roots to his brother’s blonde hair- there must be. There’s golden apples hidden in his chests- there must be. There are eyes in the walls, in the trees, in their homes- there must be. His dad won’t listen- doesn’t exactly care as much about the street rat of a little brother Wilbur’s found like he does, but... Wilbur knows. He’s seen the signs, the past few months of running. Storms and rage and horns and trades and- he’s not taking any chances. He’s not seen Connor since that day. He’s heard whispers from everyone he meets, rumors that Wilbur is unlucky. That wherever he goes, destruction follows. The calm before the storm, the unwilling shepherd of Death. He knows the chaos that follows him is just a side effect- a sign that he’s coming, that he’s getting closer and closer. 

Wilbur waits, though. He’s desperate for a home. There’s mysteries to be solved on this planet, and there’s new and old faces alike to meet. The Cumin Squad, Techno, Phil, they all give him something to fight for. He meets Pee Dog, he builds his bridges. He learns to trust Tommy again- remembers he’s well meaning and blunt and naïve in the ways the man he unknowingly mirrors never was. Doesn’t mean he isn’t an annoying shithead, and it doesn’t mean that when the kid starts wearing that suit regularly he decides it’s in everyone’s best interest to disband the Cumin Squad.

But SMP Earth isn’t quiet. It’s turbulent, and the oceans rise in storm surges in time with the breaking out of wars. Techno and Phil chase Tommy around the world, relentless and chaotic. Wilbur knows it’s not long before Schlatt realizes this world is built on the need to conquer and he flocks to it. 

He attempts to restore order- he really does. He’s spent so long sowing chaos and reaping the benefits that he knows how to combat it, surely. Anything to slow down the inevitable arrival of his hunter. He builds a courthouse, begs people to listen, to behave. 

Not that he’s perfect either- the dragon egg was just too tempting. Techno and Phil don’t like that. Understandable, really- but he realizes just how bad things have gotten when Pee Dog disappears. He can’t save him- they don’t let him save him. 

He needs to go.

...

It’s been storming for 4 nights straight. He’s gone without a word before the 5th morning. Pee Dog sits in a boat somewhere Wilbur will never find, unclaimed.

3.

He runs back into Phil and Techno coincidentally. He’s overjoyed- a bit bitter at the loss of his dog, but the past is the past. He’s reunited with his family, he reminds himself, he should be happy, he reminds himself. That doesn’t stop him from constantly looking over his shoulder. He’s in a shitty tournament to get some more cash for the road and gets teamed with familiar faces. He spots others he recognizes (Tommy, Jordan, Micheal, Poke, but no Connor, never Connor. Where was Connor?) on separate teams, but it’s the three of them that bond immediately. Sleepy Boys Inc. takes on quickly as a team name. They’re a perfect trio. Techno’s a natural fighter, Phil’s expertise makes him nearly unmatched, and Wilbur’s paranoid and haunted enough that he’s barely functional. But he functions! 

He doesn’t plan on rejoining the tournament again, but... surely another wouldn’t hurt. And another, and another, and- the three of them hang out outside of tournaments too. It’s so easy to fall back into that old rhythm from before Wilbur left home, and he clings to that like it’s a lifeline. They’re his best friends. He feels safe for the first time in months at the next tournament. They’re teamed with Tommy, and he finds himself not checking behind his back for the first time since they’d met on SMP Earth when they speak. He’s finally, finally home. 

They win. He laughs, really laughs, for the first time in months at the final Dodgebolt shot and cheers as a crown is placed onto his head. He hugs Phil, who’s balanced the crown precariously onto his hat, and drags in Techno, who stumbles blindly as the too big crown slides over his typical one and in front of his eyes. Somehow, Tommy barges his way into the hug too if he can trust the pronged metal that digs into his ribcage, but he can’t bring himself to jokingly tell him off. It’s the best day he’s had since-

Thunder rumbles in the distance. He throws himself out of the hug in a panic, backing up as his breathing quickens. It doesn’t rain on this world. It never- they made it so it didn’t... It’s not meant to storm on this world. Fuck. He’s gotten to comfortable. His three teammates cry out, but Wilbur’s already moving, scooping his backpack off the ground and tossing his cash winnings inside. The clouds in night sky seem to fast forward overhead until every star winks out. 

He’s gone by the time the first drop of rain hits the ground, crown forgotten.

4.

He keeps running into Tommy. Typical. He’s got a newer friend with him this time, who trails after him and begrudgingly sighs when asked to do menial labor for him. He’s also got some more enemies, which is far less surprising. A man dressed in lime green and his lackeys, who rules with a bit too much of an iron fist for Wilbur’s taste. Wilbur lets it slide. He won’t be staying long. 

He builds a ball, sits inside and stares at the ceiling for hours. Outside he can hear Tommy shout at Tubbo for talking over him, listens to Fundy, god, his boy Fundy, cackle over their light-hearted argument as he watches in glee and probably rifles through Tommy’s chests for more pranking materials. He does his best to not draw parallels to his past, but it’s a habit he can’t quite seem to break. 

The server’s good at keeping him around, he’ll admit. Tommy’s stubborn. He mentions he plans on leaving, the next day they’re starting a drug business- and Wilbur’s pretty familiar with both of those words. Mentions he’s not comfortable sticking around, suddenly he’s drafting a declaration of independance for a new nation. And he looks around at his brothers in arms, at Fundy and Eret, at Tommy and Tubbo, and he realizes that he’s been in this server for nearly a month now. Maybe Luck really is on his side, and maybe L’manberg can be more than a nation, a bit with friends. Maybe it can be a family. 

Wilbur’s been running for months upon months. He doesn’t like running, doesn’t like being the underdog, doesn’t like not knowing who to trust and when he’ll have to leave everyone he loves behind again. But… things are okay in L’manberg. Better than okay, even. Tommy’s got a habit of growing on him like some sort of mold every time he pops back up, and the people he surrounds himself with have a carefree attitude Wilbur wants nothing more but to have again. He finds himself loosening up, laughing at the antics of his friends more, building up his nation more.

And then Dream declares war. Wilbur knows what follows after war. Chaos comes, and storms roll in. Again, and again, and again, Wilbur’s run. He packs his things in his van, and stares at them as they all fit neatly into the old backpack he always carries. He looks down at his coat in his hands, folded into a square and ready to be tucked way, the last evidence that he was ever present in the first place. He doesn’t want to leave.

He really, really doesn’t want to leave. 

Slowly, he unpacks. His hands linger over the crumpled up piece of paper at the bottom. He smooths it out, peering down at faded words. 

"Sperm whales can’t cum," it reads.

He laughs out of habit, but all he feels is numb. It’s bitter and solemn, and the sheer age of the now soft paper makes his bones ache. He feels like he’s aged 60 years in 6 months. There’s nothing funny to the joke anymore. Just another piece of a past he can’t let go of. 

He lets the paper fall from his hands and watches as it drifts into the fire. He’ll stay, he decides. No more wishy-washiness, no more crime, no more running. 

Wilbur Soot stands in the eye of the hurricane for the first time in nearly a year. For just a moment, it’s quiet. The sun rises, and through the swirling storm clouds he sees a yellow sky. The paper burns, and he opens a new book. He puts a pen to a fresh piece of paper and he begins to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> this was just a 3+1 thing and then i thought it'd be funny to make whale facts angsty


End file.
